


An Exercise at Dawn

by LivaWilborg



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: A slightly strange Friday night in Haytham's life, Gen, Haytham is fighting a duel on principle, Shay and Haytham bonding, Shay is such a reliable friend (in this instance)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivaWilborg/pseuds/LivaWilborg
Summary: Haytham has gotten himself into a bit of Friday-night-trouble that puzzles him quite intensely. Shay is the natural choice for assistance.





	An Exercise at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fanfiction_Lurker_1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfiction_Lurker_1/gifts).



> A huge thanks to [Fanfiction_Lurker_1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfiction_Lurker_1/pseuds/Fanfiction_Lurker_1) for a great conversation on characters and timelines and for kicking my creativity into gear! I really enjoyed our talk and I'm contemplating giving Davenport (of all people!!!) some quality screen time. (I think that counts as a minor miracle, actually... ^^) LOL! 
> 
> Also a huge thanks to my amazing friend [Aniphine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aniphine/pseuds/Aniphine) for the beta-read (just before Christmas and everything. Thank you so much for your help)! =D

Haytham sighed and rolled his shoulders as he walked, and the absurdity of the night’s events finally caught up with him.

If he had any intentions in that direction, it would probably have been …romantic, he suddenly realised. He couldn’t keep a small, disbelieving laugh down although the realisation was followed by a small thrill of horror. Well, hopefully, nobody would ever know the details of his principle-fuelled actions tonight …if he survived to see the sun rise, of course. No …actually, it was even more important nobody knew the details in case he _didn’t_ survive.

And still, in the last hours, as he’d made certain the girl was safe and made his arrangements, more and more little things had started bothering him, though he’d be damned if he could identify them exactly.

He drew his collar up against the cold night air of the city. The wind was getting icier and the only sound in the night-clad streets were his own footsteps and dry leaves rustling. As he approached the harbour, mind still toying with the night’s events, the sting of the wind became more insistent with fewer buildings to shield him.

Finally, Fort Arsenal was in sight, and Haytham vaguely wondered what he’d do in case Shay wasn’t home. Charles was out of the city, but Doctor Church might do in a pinch; although hearing the doctor’s opinions on such an early start to the day would likely …make leaving this world a much less strenuous exercise, he concluded to himself and then shook his head at how frivolously he approached this. After all, this _was_ no laughing matter, however miserable the opponent might seem.

Haytham frowned as he quickly tried the gate of Fort Arsenal and found it predictably locked. The estate grounds stretched silent and dark before him, and no light was visible through the shutters of the building itself.

Feeling a small stab of annoyance at himself for being in need at this inhospitable hour, and being forced by the circumstances to wake a decent man in the dead of night, for a personal matter no less, Haytham jumped up to scale the walls around Fort Arsenal.

Well, at least Master Cormac had yet to procure those dogs for the grounds that he’d mentioned a while ago. Small blessings counted, too.

 

o-0-o

 

The icy, clear night sky stretched endlessly above him, aglow with stars, distant and thoroughly disinterested in Earthly happenings, while the full moon silvered every surface it touched.

 _The Morrigan_ gently dipped under him, creaking softly, like a lullaby from a drowsy mother willing her child to sleep. Shay grinned to himself, feeling contentedly insignificant, and adjusted his scarf where he lay on the deck, hands under his head, staring up into the heavens. Sleep might have eluded him for a good few hours, but this cold, clear, private time to think, where the only thing blocking his view of the night sky was the rigging above and the clouds from his breath, seemed like a small gift of peace.

…Until the peace was shattered by the sound of footfalls from the otherwise silent grounds of Fort Arsenal. He listened intently for a second, all senses alert. Fairly heavy footsteps, no apparent attempt to disguise the approach – or if there was an attempt, it was incredibly poor.

Shay quickly and quietly rolled to his feet. He stalked silently through the shadows of _The Morrigan’s_ deck to the stern where he could catch a small glimpse of the grounds. It sounded almost gunshot-like in the still night when the visitor knocked loudly on the door.

Before the second knock sounded, Shay was already moving towards the gangplank at a run. A nightly visit like this would have to mean… well, it could mean just about any catastrophe, but trouble was probably certain.

As he ran up the stairs from the dock, the visitor came into view, walking confidently towards him, tricorn pulled down, sword at his side, well-tailored overcoat hugging his tall frame…

“No trouble brewing,” Haytham quickly stated, holding up a hand imperiously to stop Shay’s approach. “It’s somewhat of a social call.” A small smile, made in silver and shadow from the moonlight, hid in the corner of his mouth. “…Well, _somewhat_ being the operative term,” he amended with a small, disbelieving shake of his head.

“Sir?” Shay asked.

“What _are_ you doing up at this hour? Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” the Grandmaster asked casually.

“…Thinking, Sir.” He looked for a while at the Grandmaster and then snapped to attention. “Should a _somewhat_ social call include a drink, Sir? Or breakfast? …Or do we need to leave?”

The Grandmaster finally gave a small laugh, dispelling the last of the urgency Shay felt. “I really do apologise for calling on you at this hour. A drink would be most welcome, thank you. You were at _The Morrigan_?” he asked.

“Just seeing if she was doing well… Thinking is easier there.” Shay gave a small, dismissive shrug at himself.

“Shall we, then?” the Grandmaster gestured towards the docked ship. “If your lady improves intellectual abilities, I’m certain I could use her help.”

“That bad, Sir?” Shay asked and walked back to the ship at a much more leisurely pace than he’d left her, Haytham walking beside him.

“Well, I got myself into a spot of bother, and I could use your help.” He reached into his pocket and drew forth a watch, angling the face to catch the moonlight. “Are you doing anything in about… three and a half hours?”

“I am now, Sir. What do you need?” Shay grinned.

“A second,” Haytham stated cryptically. “I need a second I can rely on, who can catch a theoretically inconsequential, but possibly nasty rumour before it spreads, in case I should chance to meet the Grim Reaper in person this morning.”

Shay stopped in his tracks. “A second, as in… for a duel?”

“Quite,” Haytham confirmed, smiling calmly.

“I’d call that a bit more than a ‘spot of bother’ if I were in your shoes,” Shay stated, almost accusingly. “Respectfully, Sir,” he added.

“Well, yes. I suppose. I do take it seriously, but I’m also in several minds about it,” Haytham began walking and Shay followed. “…Just in case, do you happen to know a decent woman of good reputation who has room for a female guest for an indefinite amount of time?” the Grandmaster added when they reached _the Morrigan’s_ deck.

“Ehm…” Shay just looked at the Grandmaster, eyebrow raised.

“No, Master Cormac, in case that’s what you’re thinking, I’m not drunk. …Although I sort of wish I was,” Haytham added wryly as an afterthought.

“That’s uniquely fixable, Sir.”

“Ah, well, a drink would be appreciated, but since I’ll be fighting in a few hours, drunkenness is sadly out of the question.”

“Here?” Shay indicated the deck first and then nodded questioningly towards the door to the captain’s quarters.

“Cold air; probably a good idea at this time of night,” Haytham responded.

Shay nodded and went to fetch the rum from his cabin, mind jumping from one explanation to the other and always coming to a stop at how the Grandmaster approached giving his orders at an uncharacteristic snail’s gallop tonight. Grandmaster Kenway was always specific, precise, and demanding; he would quickly let you know what you needed to know and tell you what to do about it.

Tonight was apparently an exception. Shay wasn’t certain if he should feel unsettled or bemused by this fact, but regardless, the Grandmaster of the Colonial Rite needed his help and discretion, and he would have it.

Returning to the deck with the rum and a lit lantern, he found Haytham leaning on the railing, looking calmly out on the harbour. He didn’t look like a man who feared a coming deathmatch. Shay handed him a cup of rum, poured one for himself too, and leaned on the railing next to him. “Tell me what happened?” he suggested. “If I’m to help, I’ll be a lot more useful if I know what’s going on.”

Haytham sighed but then gave a small laugh. “You’re right. Apologies for the mystery. It’s about a woman. …At least on the surface, it seems that way.”

Shay stared blankly at him as this information sank in.

“…It’s also very much _not_ about a woman,” Haytham continued, “as I’ve absolutely no interest in doing anything with, or to, the girl except help her out of her current predicament. And that’s exactly where I need your assistance, apart from the practical matters of ensuring the duel is fought honourably. It’s dawned on me how helplessly smitten this could be construed as, should I perish, and that won’t do.”

“So… no wedding bells?” Shay queried, only half in jest.

“Don’t be absurd!” Haytham stated categorically in an appalled tone of voice.

“Alright, then who are you fighting?”

“A man who calls himself Lord Sanford, though I can’t exactly say I believe his status. There are a lot of things I don’t fully believe, but I’ll return to that later. _Lord_ Sanford is apparently a newcomer to the city.” Haytham took a drink and sighed. “Earlier tonight I was a guest at one of Viscount Derwent’s pointless parties. Terribly dreary affair. When the night’s political work was over, I thought I’d enjoy a few games of cards to make up for the boredom.”

“Alright,” Shay commented. “…Political work?” he asked as an afterthought.

Haytham shrugged and gave Shay a slightly puzzled look. “The majority of the Order’s heavier contacts move in those circles. I thought my everyday efforts were obvious?”

“Ehh… they probably are. Guess I just assumed you ordered everyone around effortlessly.”

“Ah, if only,” Haytham commented wistfully. “Recruitment may happen in the streets among the urchins, through stranger happenings–” He gestured at Shay as though he exemplified strange simply by drawing breath. “–or through Assassin violence, but in the end, the recruits that bring _funding_ and more large-scale opportunities come from higher social circles. Half of my work is nurturing and expanding that, as much with legitimate business deals as with more clandestine manoeuvres. It’s a lovely system of tit for tat. The Order provides, and the Order receives.” Haytham shook his head. “As you can likely imagine, it’s not necessarily the most stimulating pastime, but a certain amount of both golden and political grease goes into keeping the Order strong.”

Shay took a few seconds to let this sink in. He’d always just assumed people met Haytham Kenway and bowed to his leadership immediately. “Did Davenport do the same?” he mused, puzzled, before thinking. Their eyes met in the light from the lantern and suddenly both burst out laughing.

“Alright, that was a paper-skulled question!” Shay stated. “So, you played cards?”

“I played cards…” Haytham smiled. “At the end of the evening, we were only five left, but the games were interesting, and the players were skilled. And I began to notice Lord Sanford cheating. So, naturally, I cheated as well. To best him, you understand.”

Shay hid his laugh badly in his cup. “As one does in these situations…”

“Yes, well, perhaps, in hindsight, that was frivolous,” the Grandmaster dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “However, an hour later Lord Sanford was quite moneyless. And then he placed a bet to win everything back. His stake was the virtue of his niece, the young Lady Wallis. He even called her over, and she most certainly didn’t look like a woman for sale. She’s barely seventeen and timid like a beaten dog.”

“He _did_ that?” Shay stared, stunned, at the Grandmaster. “I thought gentlemanly behaviour was… Isn’t that sort of mandatory in those circles?”

“Theoretically, yes. But people are people, no matter their status. And a certain smattering of them are frankly less than savoury. …I’m pleased to see it shock you, though,” he added as an afterthought.

Shay tried to marshal his thoughts. “So, I suppose I can guess what happened next.”

“Quite. I mentioned how a woman whose virtue is for sale is unlikely to be virtuous. And if it isn’t for sale, his regard for the others at the table had to be quite low. Naturally, this escalated. I might also have mentioned his cheating, to make sure he would have to challenge me. He did. I picked swords as the object of his demise and here we are.”

“And the lady?”

“Ah, yes. I took her home with me, which is a problem in itself, but I’ve installed her in a guest room and my housekeeper is acting as her chambermaid and chaperone until further notice. But…”

Shay just looked at the Grandmaster, or rather… _Haytham_. The Grandmaster-shield he usually hid any feelings behind had dropped away, and his uncertainty and puzzlement were clear and visible in his eyes. It was strangely unsettling, reminding Shay of that one time as a young boy when he’d seen his father drunk and realised the man was just as human as everyone else.

On the other hand, if Haytham hadn’t considered him absolutely trustworthy, Shay would never have been allowed this close.

“…But something is bothering you,” Shay said, deciding to consider the situation a compliment.

“Maybe it shouldn’t–” Haytham shook his head and looked out over the inky sea. “–but people like us judge others very quickly when it comes to how likely someone is to start or finish a fight, how honourable they’ll be in that process, how often they’ve done it before…”

Shay nodded in agreement and took a drink. “So where was he, that Sanford fellow? In your likely-to-start-a-fight judgement.”

“That’s the problem… with both of them. Lord Sanford and Lady Wallis. I cannot seem to define it clearly, but the more I think about it, something is …if not wrong, then strange.”

“Well, apparently I embody strange, too–” Shay grinned. “–so maybe I can help? Tell me about the lady? What did she do that was odd?”

“She was afraid of me. It was to be expected, naturally, that she’d be fearful if her _uncle_ , in case that’s even true, is the sort of person to sell her off to strangers. There’s no telling what she might have been through before tonight. But…” Haytham frowned. “It wasn’t just fear, she was _terrified_. All the way back in the carriage, she was practically shaking and barely able to string a sentence together. And no amount of assurances would calm her. At no point during the night did I even come close to touching her, not even to help her out of the wagon, but she was still petrified when the housekeeper came in to meet her later on.”

“Aren’t…” Shay searched blankly for a wording that wouldn’t sound completely naïve. “Well, ladies of quality… Married or widowed, they know the territory, but… couldn’t she just be a scared girl who didn’t trust your intentions?”

“Yes, she could,” Haytham agreed. “And I assumed as much while it was happening, but looking back, the reaction just seems too stark. I’m not certain of anything, and it bothers me intensely.”

“What about the Sanford fellow?” Shay asked.

Haytham took a drink, and evidently a moment to gather his thoughts, before replying. “He’s roughly my age. I suppose that doesn’t preclude him being anyone’s uncle; he could be the runt of the litter,” he added as an afterthought. “He was honestly quite a dislikeable chap right from the beginning, but looking back, it almost seems like…” He scoffed, clearly exasperated with himself. “I clearly got the feeling he was not much of a combatant; at least _that_ I’m certain of. Perhaps some formal fencing and a bit of shooting, but I doubt he’s put that into practice often, if ever. I also never intended to kill him, by the way, unless he would insist strongly at that–“

Shay laughed, interrupting. “How often does that happen? People begging you to slay them?”

Haytham grinned. “Alright,” he amended, “…insist on being put out of my misery by flaunting his poor character in my presence.”

Shay chuckled.

“At any rate, it seems in hindsight almost as if he was purposefully making himself look lewd and unpleasant. Slightly slouching, greasy hair, shifty eyes. Unpleasant in his conversation. I accepted that in the situation, but now I’m… It occurs to me he might have been pissing more than he drank, so to speak.” Haytham made a vague gesture of the hand and shook his head. Then he emptied his cup. “My best-worst guess is that he’s an Assassin, or from some other group or private employer, who have reason to want me removed, and ambushing me during a duel, where, per definition, I’d only have one other person present, would be smart. Limit the risk. But on the other hand, if that was the case, they could just shoot me in the back in the street at any given time. I hardly isolate myself.”

“Could you be wrong?” Shay asked. “Could he simply be what he seems? A gambling scrub with a title, down on his luck, hoping to make his fortune in the Colonies? Perhaps running from something back home?”

“Well, at this point, I suppose it could go either way.” Haytham rested the empty cup on the railing, twirling it thoughtfully. “But if that _is_ true, I doubt he will even show up. Incidentally, that was why I thought it best to remove the young lady from the equation initially, so she wouldn’t be caught up in his flight if that was the case.”

“Don’t take this like I’m surprised, but it’s decent of you, no matter what happens,” Shay commented.

Haytham gave a tired nod. “I suppose it is, and that’s exactly what I cannot let anyone know in case I do end up dead this morning.”

“I’m not sure I follow that logic, Sir…”

“For God’s sake!” Haytham almost snapped. ”If people think I died to save some damsel in distress, they’ll assume I’d fallen for the silly twist of skirt and suddenly my name ends up in a tragic love story! I want that prevented at _all_ costs!”

Shay, surprised at his own reaction, pressed his lips together to stop a laugh escaping. Haytham shot him a dirty look before turning his gaze away, evidently trying to control himself. Seconds later they were both laughing.

“Fine, fine, I understand,” Shay stated laughingly. “I’ll …sneak the woman off to… Egypt or India and have the Order there sit on her forever in obscurity, and then crush anyone who dares spread sweet, loving rumours about you.”

“Good, thank you. That’s appreciated. Shun no villainy to protect my memory,” Haytham grinned.

“But I don’t see how he would best you, no matter what. You trust your judgement of his abilities.”

“I do,” Haytham shrugged. “But he can have _his_ second fight in his place and not lose his honour. So, if that is the plan, I don’t know what I’m up against before I’m there.”

“Hadn’t thought about that. Good point,” Shay admitted.

Haytham drew his watch from his pocket again. “Perhaps we should get going. It’s about an hour’s ride from here, and if we’re early, we might chance to spot the ambush before it happens, if that’s indeed what’s intended.”

“As you say, Sir,” Shay agreed. “I’ll just grab ten or fifteen of my nastiest weapons and we can be under way,” he grinned.

 

o-0-o

 

The eastern sky was slowly turning a dark, leaden grey with the dawn, and cold mist rose from the river and swirled among the trees by the bank. Despite having arrived at the duel site almost an hour earlier, they’d found no trace of an ambush being prepared. The only things stirring in the forest along the riverbank were small animals waking.

The search had been frustrating and futile, and Haytham found himself growing more and more convinced his opponent was unlikely to show up.

Perhaps he had overreacted, misinterpreted, after all? Perhaps the man was simply what he’d seemed and Haytham had now bound himself to the task of placing a young girl with a title somewhere safe. It was perfectly doable, but he would have to make certain the scoundrel was picked up and given a good beating for the trouble he’d caused, and possibly have him relieved of whatever assets he might owe to his niece.

He cast a glance at Shay, who was looking at his pocket watch. “Six thirty, Sir,” he informed. “He might not show u–“

Somewhere down the forest path, movement was heard.

“Ah, you might get to stab someone for their poor manners, after all, Sir,” Shay grinned.

“Two horses?” Haytham listened. Whoever it was approached at a steady but leisurely pace, not trying to mask their presence.

“Sounds like it. Three at the most. They’re not hurrying… Guess I wouldn’t be in his place, either.” Shay crossed his arms and they both looked at the forest until the newcomers came into view. 

One rider was a large, barrel-chested fellow, with a nose that had clearly been broken more than a few times. A rifle was strapped to his saddle and a heavy cutlass hung from his belt. But it was Lord Sanford that drew Haytham’s attention. The man looked tired, and not a little nervous, but he sat straight in his saddle and his gaze was calm when it met Haytham’s. He was armed with a simple sword and nothing else, and the way he held himself was so different from the man he’d seemed earlier, rendering him almost unrecognisable.

Sanford nodded respectfully and dismounted. His companion did the same in the gloomy grey dawn light.

Haytham frowned. Next to him, Shay was practically radiating threat, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Haytham’s mouth as his opponent approached with his second at his side.

“I suppose you intend to hand the matter of honour over to this gentleman,” Haytham commented, nodding at Sanford’s burly second.

“No, Sir.” Sanford bowed, drew his sword slowly, and held it out in both hands for Haytham to take.

Haytham just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m here to make a full apology and ask the Grandmaster’s forgiveness for my deception.” Sanford slowly put the sword down on the ground in front of him, almost as though he hoped it would act as a barrier between them.

“…An interesting development,” Haytham commented, careful not to let his surprise show. _This slimy little turd is a brother of the Order?_ he thought, incredulous, trying to read the man. _What the Hell is going on!_

Sanford carefully reached for his pocket and took out a sealed letter. He held it out. “For you, Sir. From the newly appointed Grandmaster of the British Rite.”

Haytham took the letter, broke the seal, and quickly scanned the short, concise message, anger building steadily with each word read. He folded the thoroughly offensive piece of paper and calmly put it in his pocket.

“I see,” he stated. “Please, _Lord_ Sanford, do assist me in interpreting this correctly. The Grandmaster of the British Rite believes he’s the guardian of my ethical conduct and sent you here to test my gentlemanly reactions. Do I understand your mission in the Colonies correctly?”

“Yes, Sir.” Sanford nodded, his face expressionless.

“And the girl?”

“The Grandmaster of the British Rite described her presence as _incentive_.”

“Incentive… I see,” Haytham nodded calmly. “Well, I suppose there’s only one detail left to wrap up this morning’s waste of time.”

The punch that followed sent Sanford sprawling on the ground, where he lay stunned for a moment.

“Don’t you dare move!” Haytham snarled at Sanford’s guard, somewhat superfluously, since Shay already had the man pinned with a knife to his throat.

Haytham picked the dazed Lord Sanford up by the collar of his coat. “You can take that response back to your Grandmaster and tell him that if he ever dares test or evaluate me again, I will have the same conversation with him in person. And do let him know that if he _ever_ again authorises an agent of his to land on these shores without following protocol and introducing themselves to me, I will haul him before the Masters’ Council and make certain his name is disgraced until the end of history. Is that clear!”

“Perfectly, Sir,” Sanford commented through bloody lips.

“Excellent. I’m glad we had this talk.” He threw Sanford on the ground again, so he wasn’t quite as tempted to strangle the messenger. “You have three days to leave the Colonies or I will have all three of you ended in such a blaze of violence that the God of the Jews will cry with envy that he didn’t think of it first. Good morning!” Haytham cast a glance at Shay, who moved to his side, and strode off, anger boiling.

“Grandmaster Kenway, please. Stop!” Sanford got shakily to his feet.

Haytham drew a deep breath and stopped in his tracks.

“Lady Henrietta Wallis had nothing to do with this, Sir. Please don’t punish her. She was sent with me against her will and I tried to talk the Grandmaster out of it.”

Haytham finally turned and looked at the haggard messenger. The blood from his broken lip was flowing freely, dripping down his jacket.

“She’s innocent. I beg you, let her stay here, out of reach,” Sanford pleaded. “I want–” He quickly cut himself off when Haytham narrowed his eyes. “She’s adept at breaking codes, Sir. She’s an asset. …You were willing to die for her honour just a few moments ago.”

“Yes, and I’d thank you not to mention that again!” Haytham stated grimly, staring the man down. Regardless of the conflict between himself and Reginald Birch, Birch’s successor was evidently not aware of the limits of his own authority. …But what was a soldier of the Order to do except exactly what his Grandmaster commanded?

“She was terrified of me, last night,” Haytham finally said. “I suppose that makes sense now, since she was wilfully deceiving me and feared I’d find out.”

“Your talent for permanent problem-solving is well known and feared, Sir. Of course she was scared,” Sanford entreated.

“Three days,” Haytham just commented. “You should be frantically looking for passage off these shores. You have an important report to make overseas.” He turned on his heel, nodded at Shay to follow, and walked away.

 

o-0-o

 

Shay had privately congratulated himself when the city finally swallowed them again. The Grandmaster had originally set a slow and steady pace away from the duel site, and although he seemed perfectly calm outwardly, Shay could _feel_ Haytham’s anger boiling furiously just under the surface.

Whatever the content of the letter, and whatever reasons preceded it, Shay felt fairly certain the Grandmaster powder-keg needed immediate defusing, so he’d given Haytham a sideways glance, catching his gaze with a challenge, and spurred his horse into a gallop. After a few moments, Haytham had followed suit and their wild gallop had taken them back to the city limits in less than half the time it took to reach the duel site originally.

Shay had led the way to Fort Arsenal and the Grandmaster hadn’t protested; in fact, he hadn’t uttered a word since the encounter with Sanford, as if a single sentence would cause his anger to overflow. Now, they were seated in the cosy upstairs library with a large breakfast piled on the table between them.

“Thank you for your assistance and forethought on my behalf,” Haytham finally broke the silence. He shook his head. “If I’d gone back home, I would have been sorely tempted to deal harshly with the girl.”

Shay felt a small smile tug at his mouth. “I know.”

“I feel like I owe you some sort of explanation, but I’d be damned if I can give you one. What an idiotic mess.”

“I don’t really understand what happened, though. Why…” Shay shook his head.

“Why does the Grandmaster of the British Rite believe it within his rights to test me?” Haytham drew the letter from his pocket and held it out for Shay to take before turning his attention to his tea.

Shay quickly read the short letter, his mood starting at disbelief and ending at fury. “Who the sodding Hell does he think he is!” he exclaimed. “‘… _whether you are capable of proper moral conduct_ ’,” he read aloud, “and… ‘ _your involvement in the death of Grandmaster Birch and your_ _possible_ _assassin sympathies_ ’ _…_ Is he angling for a war?” Shay slammed the letter flat-handed on the table so hard his cup rattled in its saucer.

“He knows who my father is,” Haytham said calmly. “And, apparently, he believes himself above me in moral standing for that reason.” He reached over, took the letter, and carefully put it back in his jacket pocket. “Much as I’d like to have a conversation about authority with the man, I believe this silly intermezzo is the end of it. I’m certain Sanford’s report will make my opinion clear to him.”

“What a lobcock!” Shay fumed.

“I fully agree.” Haytham took a drink of his tea. “At least I was right in being puzzled about the situation.”

“Doesn’t really sit right with me that we aren’t doing more. He’s insulting you, Sir! And everyone under your command with you!”

“Yes, he is. But if my actions aren’t enough to convince him, nothing will. I consider the matter closed. But for his sake, I hope he doesn’t persist in bothering me.”

“There shouldn’t be enmity between us. Brothers of the Order,” Shay said slowly. “But I can’t help hoping he’ll keep annoying you, Sir. I’d love to see you stomp his frowsy little face into the dirt.”

 

    

  


End file.
